


The city from dreams

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gondolin, Longing, Rivendell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:57:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel and a few vivid memories. A bit angsty reflection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The city from dreams

**The city from dreams**

In his dreams, those good ones, the White City bustles with life, shines brightly among the mountains in the sunshine, not in the fire. It’s music that sings on the streets, not the alarm bells. In his dreams, Gondolin remains unbroken. Glorfindel watches the images hidden deep in his memory, knowing that soon he would have to go back to another world, to another times, where Gondolin exists only in songs and legends.

_(The reality catches him in Imladris, the morning greets him on his balcony. Glorfindel stands there, absentminded, his eyes locked in the view of the nearest mountains, his heart longing for Echoriath.  The brooch in a shape of golden flower shines stronger on his chest.)_

And then, there are nightmares. Glorfindel dreams of the doom of his beloved city, he feels the burning air and blinding fire. The hidden city is burning, his friends are dying, until there is no hope left and they have to escape into the mountains, trying to save their lives at least. The fire of Balrog encircles him, his fair skin and golden hair burn. Falling down with the fiery monster, Glorfindel sees Idril with his blinded eyes and prays to the Valars to let her escape.

_(After so many centuries, he no longer wakes with scream; Glorfindel loses his voice somewhere in between and it doesn’t take him so much time to realize that the sensation he feels on his hand pressed to his lips is his own warm breath, not fire.)_

It is not Idril Celebrindal he then watches for the whole day. His bright eyes, clouded like summer sky in a stormy evening, follow Elrond, watch Arwen dutifully, but instead of the fair princess of Gondolin, he sees Luthien Tinuviel. It wasn’t Earendil he rocked on his knees in these halls, it wasn’t him Glorfindel taught how to handle a sword. He would have never mistaken twin sons of Elrond with the boy he carried once from the burning city, their grandfather.

When he finds no comfort in the Last Homely House, Glorfindel mounts his horse and rides alone on a patrol, checks every guard point himself. The borders of Rivendell are well protected, but Glorfindel knows sometimes it is not enough, so he cannot be lured by the silence. Despite his mood, his white stallion runs lightly through the well-known paths, the bells on his harness ringing merrily.

_(Glorfindel loves white horses; it’s a whim he allows himself to have in the times of relative peace.)_

His uneasy soul finds calmes in time. The horse’s hooves clip on the road, the golden brooch shines in the sunset, when Glorfindel comes back home. He has already lost one home before; he died trying to defend it with all his strength and he is willing to do the same for his new one. He has once sworn his loyalty to Turgon and he finds his word binding even now, though five elven generations has passed since then.

 


End file.
